


Friends on the Other Side

by Mikhailov, seraph_writes



Category: Coraline - All Media Types, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coraline (2009) Fusion, Based on Coraline, Canon-Typical Creepiness (Coraline), He's a good dad he's just bad at expressing affection, It gets a little spooky lads, It's a Coraline AU babey!!!!, Kid Kujo Jolyne, Kujo Jotaro is Bad at Feelings, Light Horror, Monsters, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikhailov/pseuds/Mikhailov, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraph_writes/pseuds/seraph_writes
Summary: Jolyne discovered the door a little while after they moved into the new house.Amid her workaholic parents, the boring new house and strange neighbors, little Jolyne wants nothing more than to get away. Her prayer is answered by a wonderful new world on the other side of a secret door, where her other father and other mother are all too willing to welcome her home and want her to stay and be their daughter. But something isn't right here -- is Jolyne's dreamland too good to be true?Remember: be careful what you wish for.
Relationships: Kujo Jolyne & Kujo Jotaro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. The Pink Palace

Jolyne discovered the door a little while after they moved into the new house.

It was a very old house – it had an attic under the roof and a cellar under the ground and an overgrown garden with huge, old trees in it. Jolyne’s family didn’t own the entire house– it was too big for that, too expensive. Instead it was split up into apartments and they owned one of them.

They arrived ahead of the moving truck on a rainy Thursday morning, driving up the bumpy dirt road, past the old, faded sign out front that read ‘Pink Palace Apartments’. The building looked more grey than pink, in Jolyne’s opinion, though she was sure it had been a lovely colour in the past. It was rather run-down now, but her mother was very insistent on moving here and ecstatic to have finally arrived. 

She kept going on about how “downgrading will be good for the family”, and the small town life would be a nice change of pace. She had grown up in a town just like this, she said, and that she was sick of the fast-paced city lifestyle. Jolyne couldn’t really care less. If things really  _ did _ get better, well… that would be nice.  _ Fingers crossed. _

They spent the first few days unpacking, and sleeping in sleeping bags on top of their mattresses because the second moving van that had all the blankets hadn’t arrived yet. The house was mostly furnished with unopened cardboard boxes and bare walls, old wallpapers peeling off the walls and wood that had long lost its shine. In hopes of distracting herself, Jolyne began a project; making paper cut-outs of butterflies and colouring them with highlighters she stole from her dad’s office. She attached them to a string using clothespins and hung them over her bed like a canopy. It kept her busy for about one day, then she was left looking for something else to do. 

She decided to go visit the neighbours.

Sorbet and Gelato lived in the flat below Jolyne’s in the former cellar. They were both tall, lanky and stalky and their shelves were filled with an alarming number of taxidermied birds and rodents, far too many for Jolyne to be completely comfortable around them. Apparently, they had once been travelling circus performers from Europe. It was a fact that Gelato had told Jolyne, and been  _ very  _ insistent on telling her, the first time he met her. 

“You see, Jocelyn,” the man drawled, getting Jolyne’s name wrong, “We were quite famous in our time. We travelled all across the continent.”

“It’s not Jocelyn, it’s  _ Jolyne _ ,” she retorted, but Gelato wasn’t listening.

“Oh, move Piuma to the middle of that shelf, there. No – one row down, yes, right there.” He then turned to Jolyne, sighing, “He was my prized hawk for so many years. I couldn’t dare to part with him – so I had him stuffed.” He explained, an odd glint in his eyes.

Of all the neighbours, however, Baron Zeppeli had brought her the most…confusion. The wall of dead animals had been most interesting, for sure, but the ecstatic, Italian man she had met that day had caught her attention in a most curious way. She hadn’t exactly  _ meant  _ to meet Baron Zeppeli, not really. A mixup in the mail had been the catalyst for it and she had yet to meet the neighbour up the metal staircase.  _ Might as well kill two birds with one stone _ . 

Each step of the staircase groaned and creaked under her feet and Jolyne had been sure that one of them would give out under her as she walked. But the staircase had thankfully held and she had made it to the top with no issue. This area of the Pink Palace was just as bland and boring as the rest. The guardrail was old and faded, the colours dull and muted. Jolyne paid them no mind as she’d knocked on the only door she saw, only to not receive an answer. 

“Hellooooo?” She called. “I think our mail got mixed up? I’m here to give them to you!”

“Ah!  _ I miei formaggi _ !” 

Startled, Jolyne threw her arms up in shock, and where she had expected a clutter as the mail fell, she heard only a soft grunt. A shadow passed overhead and as she spun, she found herself coming face to face with a man  _ well _ into his fifties. He bore a stark white coat that billowed around him despite any breeze, a checkered hat and a very distinct, albeit strikingly stylish mustache. He brought the mail he collected in his arms up to his face, taking in a very big sniff of the packages.

“O-Oh! I--” she stammered.

“ _ I _ ,” he announced in a most dramatic fashion. “Am Baron William Anthonio Zeppeli! But you, my dear, can call me, Mr. Z if you would.” He told her. She blinked, faced with Mr. Z she wasn’t sure how to react.   
  


“I- I’m Jolyne. We just moved here.” She informed him, speaking slowly.

“Ah  _ sì _ ! Jocelyn! The mice have whispered about you, this is in fact why I have these packages here you know!” He lowered so he was at eye level with her, and hid his face as if he was going to whisper a secret. She had been too shocked to correct him on her name. “I am hoping that the cheese will make them more… ah how you say,  _ willing _ to act. A circus, and a grand one they will be! I thank you, Jocelyn! You are a savior.”

He descended into a deep bow, his hat brushing the floor, but it had stayed on his head as if glued there. “ _Fino a quando ci incontriamo di nuovo_ , Jocelyn!” He said. He stepped back, jumped back onto the railing and them with horror she’d watched as he jumped _off of_ the railing. Horrified, she rushed down to see if he was okay, but found no one.

Mr. Z told her the mice had spoken about her once more when he somehow returned to the balcony. Muttering that they had got her name wrong. “Jolyne, they said! Ridiculous.” He said, and Jolyne did not see him for a while after that.

Three days after they moved in, Jolyne went exploring the grounds. She explored the garden, which was very large. Her mother, who was a professional gardener, had said that she was going to fix it up eventually, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Probably wouldn’t for a while. Beyond the garden was an old tennis court, which hadn’t been used in years and probably wouldn’t be for another few. There were stunted, flyblown rose bushes; a rockery that was all rocks, and a fairy circle made of squishy brown toadstools that smelled like rotten eggs if you accidentally stepped on them.

On the fourth day, she set out to find the well. The day before, Sorbet had told her about it and how dangerous it was, but encouraged her to find it anyway. On her way up from their apartment, Jolyne broke a large branch off a nearby bush, holding it out in front of her. She had read about water-witching and thought that this branch would make a good dowsing rod. She wandered through the muddy meadow next to the house, guided by the dowser. Right up until a dog jumped out from a tree right next to her and barked surprisingly loud.

Jolyne startled and ran up the hill to get away from it, only stopping in the middle of the fairy circle at the top. The dog, however, had followed her and was staring at her from a nearby tree stump with round, dark eyes.

“You scared me to death, you mangy mutt!” She shouted, “I’m just looking for an old well. Heard of it?” The dog blinked. “...Not talking, huh?”

Jolyne picked up the dowsing rod and held it up, closing her eyes. “Magic dowser, magic dowser…” She chanted, just as a strong gust of wind picked up, “Show me… the well!!”

She was interrupted by the loud roar of an engine from the embankment above. She whipped around just in time to see a faceless figure on a dirt bike barrel down the side of the cliff, straight towards her. She screamed, swinging the branch blindly as the biker zipped past her, and missing them by a mile, the momentum of her swing sending her backwards into the mud. 

The figure jumped off their dirt bike, letting it skid a couple more inches into the mud while staring Jolyne down behind the black visor of a biking helmet. Finally they pulled it off their head to reveal a kid the same age as Jolyne with a crooked smile and bobbed, lime-green hair. Their wide eyes gave her pause.

“Lemme guess, you’re from Texas or Utah. Somewhere dry and barren, right?” The kid said before Jolyne could compose herself. They scooped the dowsing rod up in their gloved hands, turning it this way and that. “I’ve heard about water-witching before, but it just doesn’t make sense. It’s just a plain old branch.”

“It’s a  _ dowsing rod! _ ” Jolyne protested, feeling as though she had to defend herself and her dowsing rod’s honour. She marched up to the green-haired kid and kicked them roughly in the shin with the toe of her rain boots, causing them to drop the branch and hold their leg in pain. She snatched it from the ground and held it close to her chest.

“And I don’t like being stalked by psycho-nerds and their weird dogs!” She yelled, pointing to the scruffy bulldog who had reappeared next to the kid. “He’s not really mine,” the kid replied sheepishly, “He’s kinda feral – Y’know, wild. But I do feed him everyday and sometimes he comes to my window and leaves me little dead things.”

Jolyne sighed, exasperated, “Look. I’m from Manhattan, and I used to stay with my dad in Saitama sometimes.” The kid gave Jolyne a weird look. “You know, Japan?”

“And if I’m a water witch,” Jolyne continued after a moment, “Where’s the secret well?” She stomped her foot for emphasis, not noticing how the ground creaked underneath her.

“If you stomp any harder, you’re going to fall into it,” The kid said plainly. Jolyne looked down and realized what they meant, jumping out of the fairy circle in fright. The green-haired kid kneeled down, clearing away the layer of mud to reveal a cover made of wooden planks. They grabbed a heavy branch off the ground as though it were nothing and wedged it between the wood and the brick walls of the well, long since consumed by the earth, and pushed, cracking it open like an ancient soup can. “See?” they said, knocking twice on the old wood, the sound reverberating down and down and down into someplace deep below, “They say it’s so deep, that if you looked up from the very bottom, you’d be able to see a sky full of stars in the middle of the day.”

Jolyne spotted a small knothole in the middle of one of the boards and leaned down to peer through it, but saw nothing except pitch black, darker than the night sky if that were possible. It was an empty, frightening nothingness and she did  _ not _ like it. Grabbing a pebble from nearby, she dropped it down the knothole and counted. She got to forty before she heard the distant  _ ‘plunk’ _ of the pebble hitting the water below.

“I’m surprised she let you move in,” The kid said, interrupting Jolyne’s thoughts. She looked over towards them, “My aunt owns the Pink Palace and won’t rent to people with kids.”

“What do you mean?” the girl asked.

“Uhh… I’m not supposed to talk about it,” The kid muttered, “Anyway, I’m F.F.” They held out their gloved hand to shake and Jolyne accepted, surprised by the kid’s strong grip, “Short for Francine-Fernanda. Not my idea, of course. What’d you get saddled with?”

Jolyne’s hand was covered in dirt and filth from F.F.’s gloves which she grimaced at and wiped off on her raincoat.

“I didn’t get  _ ‘saddled’ _ with anything– It’s Jolyne. Jolyne Kujo.”

“Huh. It’s not really scientific, but I heard that an ordinary name like Jocelyn can lead to people having ordinary expectations about a person,” F.F. replied, wandering over to the bulldog and scooping it up into their arms.

“It’s  _ Jolyne _ , not Jocelyn.” Frustration lacing her words.

Just then, a faint voice came from over the hill:

“ _ FRANCINE! _ ”

“I think I hear someone calling you,  _ Francine _ ,” Jolyne teased. F.F.’s eyes darted around in embarrassment, “N-No, I didn’t hear anything.” They stammered.

“Oh no, I definitely heard it,” The girl insisted.

The cry came again, along with the frantic ringing of a dinner bell, “ _ FRANCINE!! _ ”

“T-That’s my aunt, I gotta go!” The kid blurted out, hopping onto their dirt bike. The dog jumped on as well, getting comfortable in a bicycle basket attached to the front with zip ties. “Well, it’s great to finally meet a Japanese water witch,” they said. Jolyne just scowled. “Although, I would wear gloves next time,” they continued, looking down at the branch in the girl’s hands.

“Why?”

“That ‘dowsing rod’? Uhm… it’s poison oak.”

Jolyne gasped and dropped the branch with a yelp as if it had burnt her, just as F.F. secured their helmet and sped off, kicking up mud and debris.

Jolyne stuck her tongue out at the retreating figure as it disappeared over the cliff.

  
  


* * *

Just as F.F. had said, Jolyne woke up the next morning with itchy red bumps all over the palms of her hands. To make things worse, it was raining.  _ Just perfect.  _ Not the good kind of rain, though. The kind that threw itself down from the sky and splashed where it landed. Where raindrops felt like bullets hitting your skin. It was the kind of rain that meant business – and right now its business was turning the entire garden into a wet, muddy soup.

“I almost fell down a well yesterday, mom,” the girl said, staring out the kitchen window. Her mom was behind her, standing in front of the calendar.

“Mhm,” her mother replied absentmindedly. She paused to pick up a pen and write something down.

“I could’ve died.”

“That’s nice, Jojo.”

“Sooo… can I go out? I think it’s a great day to go exploring.”

“No, Jojo. Rain makes mud, and mud makes a mess. I don’t have time to clean up after you today. I have work to do.” She said, her voice a grating monotone.

“What?! But isn’t that why we moved here? To spend more time as a ‘family’?” Jolyne protested, making air quotes. “It was, until your father decided to go away on business, again.”

“It’s not  _ my _ fault dad works all the time,” the girl shot back.

“I never said it was.”

Her mother paused, and then picked something up off the floor, “Oh, some kid dropped this off at the front door.”

It was a flimsy package made of newspaper and scotch tape, wrapped around something rectangular and soft. Jolyne turned it over in her hands before setting it down on the breakfast table and unwrapping it. Taped under the first layer of newspaper was a note, scribbled on a piece of cardstock:

“ _ Hey Kujo, look what I found. Seem familiar? --F.F.” _

Jolyne tore through the layers of newspaper. Stopping suddenly when she saw what was inside.

“Huh.”

It was a ragdoll, about the size of her forearm, and looked exactly like Jolyne in every conceivable way. It had her black hair in twin buns, with her fluorescent yellow fringe and braid, made of yarn. In it was a miniature copy of the butterfly hair clip she always wore, along with her raincoat, black boots, green shorts and tall grid-patterned socks. The doll was made complete with a set of black button eyes.

“A little me? That’s weird,” she thought aloud, more confused than creeped out. “I’m way too old for dolls,” she muttered, tossing the newspaper wrapping on the floor. She carried the little doll under her arm as she left the kitchen, making her way into her father’s study.

The room was dusty and filled with stacks of unopened boxes, towering almost to the ceiling. An empty bookshelf and display case sat against the wall. A lone picture frame hung on the wall; inside was her dad’s doctorate in marine biology. The father in question sat in the center of the room, behind a wide, oak desk. He was typing away on his computer, as usual. His back slouched a little more than normal. Jolyne peeked around the desk and noticed that her dad had unpacked all his papers and knick-knacks. Stacks of paperwork in manila folders sat in one corner, a couple books with colourful covers sat in another (all about marine biology) and a fossilized mollusk in a tiny glass case was placed next to his computer. 

The one thing that caught Jolyne’s attention though, was a picture frame facing away from the door. Jolyne had seen it a few times in her dad’s Saitama townhouse, and had always been curious about it. Jolyne leaned in closer to get a better look.

“Hello, Jolyne,” her dad said monotonously, breaking the silence.

“Hi dad,” and then, “Can I go outside?”

“What did your mother say?”

“She said, ‘don’t even think about going out there, Jolyne Kujo!’” The girl responded, shaking the little Jolyne doll for emphasis.

“Then, no.” At this point, her dad had not looked up from his computer once. 

“But I want to keep exploring!” She whined. “So explore the apartment,” he replied flatly. He wasn’t even bothering to humour her today. Jolyne scoffed loudly and continued wandering around the room. She circled back to the desk and peered at the photograph again. It was an old, well-loved photo, with visible creases and rough edges. It depicted a much younger version of her father, wearing a high school uniform, standing next to her great-grandpa, along with three other men and a dog whom she did not recognize. They were standing in front of an infinite expanse of desert, and Jolyne liked to imagine that he was on a fantastic adventure. It seemed so foreign to her; a time when her ordinary father wasn’t so boring. He was even smiling in the picture! That was a rare sight these days.

She reached out to touch it, but she stopped by her father’s arm shooting out and blocking her way. “Don’t touch that,” he reprimanded her, a harsh edge to his voice was inevitably what made her stop.

“But I want to see it!”

“I said no, Jolyne,” with this he finally looked up from his computer, giving her that serious look from under the brim of his hat that meant there was no sense in arguing further.

“Look–” he continued, “Here’s a notepad and pen. Go explore the apartment. Count all the doors and windows. List everything blue–and leave me alone to work.”

Jolyne snatched the paper and pen and stomped out of the room.

She wandered up and down the hallway carpet, trying to smooth out all the bumps, but a new one always appeared. She went upstairs to the bathroom and found bugs crawling on the shower walls. She squashed them but was left with bug-gunk all over her hands. When she turned on the tap to wash it off, the water came out of the showerhead, soaking her entire body instead.

She counted all the windows (Twenty one)

And the doors (Fourteen)

And everything blue (A hundred and fifty-one)

And she was still painfully bored. 

Her last stop was the living room. She set the doll, who had accompanied her on this adventure, onto the coffee table next to the fireplace. On the table was a box labeled ‘ _ snowglobes & breakables _ ’. The inside was lined with tissue paper, cocooning the fragile souvenirs her family collected. Jolyne picked up a round, glass snowglobe out of the box. Inside was a tiny replica of the pyramid of Giza and the nameplate on the base read ‘ _ KHAN KHALILI _ ’. They had bought it as a souvenir from their trip to Cairo when Jolyne was much younger, a trip she barely remembered. She placed it carefully on the mantelpiece and went back to her notepad. She counted off the last two windows and stopped in front of the fireplace to look up at a painting hanging above the mantelpiece. It was of a teary-eyed boy in a blue sailor outfit staring down at his ice cream that had fallen on the ground, left holding an empty ice cream cone. 

“One boring blue boy in a painfully boring painting,” Jolyne read aloud as she jotted it down on the notepad, “two incredibly boring windows, and no more doors–”

She leaned down to pick up the doll when she realized it was gone. She looked around the room, surprised when she spotted it sticking out from behind a large box propped against the wall. She slid the box out of the way to reveal the outline of a tiny door underneath the wallpaper.

“Hey mom, where does this door go?” She called.

“I’m really,  _ really  _ busy!” Her mom called back from the kitchen. Clearly, she was in no mood to humour her today either, apparently.

“I think it’s locked.”

No response.

“MOOOOOM!!” 

A loud groan came from the kitchen and then Jolyne’s mom was rounding the corner into the living room.

“That door doesn’t go anywhere, Jojo,” her mom asserted with very thinly-veiled irritation.

“Well, open it. We won’t know for sure unless we check!”

Her mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “If I do this for you, will you leave me alone?”

“Yes, I promise!”

Her mom went back into the kitchen and came out holding a large, black key with the emblem of a button on the end. She cut the wallpaper away with an exacto knife and stuck the key into the keyhole and twisted. It took a little effort to get the ancient hinges to open, but what was revealed was simply a plain, brick wall. Her face fell. 

“Bricks? You’ve got to be kidding!” Jolyne groaned.

“When they divided the house up into apartments they must have closed it off,” her mother explained, she sounded painfully uninterested. Then, she got up and left.

“You didn’t lock it,” Jolyne called after her.

“Why should I lock it?” She heard her mother reply from the kitchen, “It doesn’t go anywhere.”

  
  


It was nearly dark outside now, and the rain was still coming down, pattering against the windows and blurring the lights of the cars that passed on the street outside. Jolyne’s parents had stopped working and her mother had made dinner.

The girl made a disgusted grimace as the yellow and green slop hit her plate. “Mama,” she grumbled, “you made a  _ recipe  _ again.”

“It’s leek and potato stew with tarragon garnish and melted Gruyere cheese,” she admitted. Jolyne pretended to gag. “Why doesn’t dad ever cook?”

“I can’t cook that well, Jolyne,” her father answered, frowning.

“Besides, your father and I have a system. I cook and he cleans… when he’s around,” her mother finished. Her father acknowledged the comment with a small wince. Jolyne thought it unfair that her mother badgered her father over that fact as much as she did. It isn’t like he had known his job would have him away more often than not.

Jolyne got up from her chair and went to grab a microwave dinner from the freezer. 

“Maybe if you tried it, you’d like it.” Jolyne just shook her head, watching her food go around and around and around under the dull yellow light of the microwave.

“Think they’re trying to poison me?” She asked the doll, who sat on the kitchen counter staring back at her with beady, black button eyes. She ignored her parents the rest of the night.


	2. Dreaming

Jolyne woke up that night to a soft scratching noise under her bed. Her eyes darted around the room. It was the middle of the night and she could see the moon through her window. Though she should have probably ignored it and gone back to bed, her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she looked over the edge of her bed into the seemingly endless black of underneath. For a moment there was nothing there and then something rushed past her, a blur that zipped out from under the bed and to her door.

Jolyne stared, surprised to see, of all things, a mouse.

It was like no mouse she’d ever seen before, though she hadn’t seen many mice in all honesty. It was absolutely a mouse, though it stood  _ just _ a little taller than a normal mouse. It’s back legs were a little... longer almost. It squeaked, and then turned on its heels and hopped away.

Jolyne jumped out of her bed in a flurry of blankets and pillows. She shouldn’t let this little rodent get away, though she was just as confused and intrigued as to where it was going. Racing down the empty, eerie hallways of the house, she chased down the mouse all the way down to the living room. 

She came to a stop before the tiny door in the wall, dropping to her knees with excitement. She grasped at the door and swung it open, expecting to see the mouse crouching in front of a plain, brick wall, but instead, her jaw  _ dropped _ . 

Behind the door glowed a faint tunnel of purple and blue. It looked like a kaleidoscope, shifting ever so faintly between a multitude of colours. She gathered her courage and followed after the mouse into the tunnel. The tunnel was solid, but her palms sunk into the material of whatever the tunnel was even made of. It offered no resistance as she crawled. The end of the tunnel came into sight very soon and Jolyne allowed her mind to wander as to what the other side of this passageway might look like. She imagined a magical world full of creatures and magic, and of gorgeous landscapes and rolling hills, maybe even a few dragons.

So, Jolyne pushed open the door, her heart thumping behind her ribcage in excitement and she crawled out of the tunnel into… her… house?

Disappointment settled over her shoulders like a pile of weighted blankets and Jolyne bit back a frustrated yell. How? How could she crawl for so long yet still end up back here, at home? She stood, dusting herself off with a scowl and she looked around. Admittedly, it looked a little brighter in the room that it had been a moment ago. The colour of the walls were more vibrant, it looked as though a new coat of paint had been applied. Something about the house was very different though Jolyne could not put her finger on it. She sighed.  _ Good grief, what a drag _ .

But no; something was definitely different. The painting hanging above the mantelpiece, once depicting a sad boy and his lost ice cream, was now smiling with a three-tiered cone of ice cream stacked almost up to his head. Deciding she might as well explore the house, Jolyne left the room and wandered down the hall, unsure of where she should start first.

Jolyne wandered down the hallway and through the dining room. It was dark, so she could only make out vague, inky silhouettes of furniture. A glow of light was coming from the open kitchen door, and as she got closer she picked up on the sound of someone humming.

It was a strangely haunting sound, a soulful lullaby, and as the girl peeked into the kitchen she realized who it was coming from. A man was standing there by the stove, his back to her. He was very tall, with slicked-back, black hair and a white vest over a purple turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was… her father?

“Dad?” Jolyne called, bewildered, “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

Then he turned around, and instead of teal eyes that looked like the open ocean, his eyes were two big, black, shining buttons.

“You’re just in time for supper, dear,” said the man in a drawl. He was grinning widely, with teeth like a military graveyard -- bright white in perfect, straight rows. 

“ _ You’re _ not my father. My father doesn’t have b-b-bu--”

“B-b-buttons?” He finished. Then he laughed -- laughed! -- and stepped towards the oven. “Do you like them? I’m your other father, squirt. Now go tell your other mother that supper’s ready.” He leaned down to open the oven and a delicious smell wafted out. Jolyne suddenly realized how hungry she was. 

“Well go on,” the man urged with a smile, then he added in a sort of fake-whisper, “She’s in my study.”

Jolyne hesitantly headed towards the door, making a point to keep her eye on her not-father until she had turned the corner into the hallway. The lights in the house were on now, guiding the girl’s way down to her father’s study.

Carefully pushing the door opened, Jolyne was greeted by a room that seemed much bigger than her real father’s office. The desk and shelves were covered with books and what looked to be marine fossils. On the other end of the room was a huge aquarium filled with fish of all different sizes and colours, and the light from inside casted the room in a faint blue glow. It was missing all the dust and cardboard boxes and, most noticeably, her father.

She spotted the thin form of her mother with her short, side swept brown hair and floral day dress. She too had her back turned to Jolyne, sitting in a chair near the corner of the room with a bag full of big balls of yarn sat next to her. A few small embroideries were placed all around the room, displaying the gorgeous, detailed designs. 

“Mom?” She asked, staring at the back of the figure sitting at the chair in the corner. Her back was to her, but she sat just a little taller than she normally did. What was possibly her mother wove her arms in smooth patterns, pulling and pushing, and Jolyne thought that made no sense because  _ my mother doesn’t knit. Or make embroideries _ .

With eerie slowness, her mother spun around in her chair, and she too had black buttons where her eyes should have been. Just like the other father.

“...Who  _ are _ you?” She asked. She could not keep the shock from her voice. Her mother or whatever was parading as her mother smiled, slow and kind. Jolyne could not decide whether she was fascinated or scared. 

  
“I’m your mother,” she said, smiling.

Jolyne shook her head. “ _ My _ mother doesn’t knit.” She said, leaving no room for argument.

Her not!mother laughed and shook her head. She drummed her fingers on her thigh and tilted her head from side to side. “Not your  _ mother  _ mother, darling!” She stood, towering over her even though she wasn’t the tallest and she leaned down before her, hands on her knees. “I’m your  _ other _ mother.” She told her, a smile on her face. Her mother didn’t smile all that often lately, but it also seemed too  _ off _ to be a genuine smile from her anyways. Her eyes widened, she pulled her satchel (which she had grabbed in a rush as she ran after the mouse) closer to her chest.

Her other mother turned to the side, picking up the embroidery ring she was working on, and set it on the corner of the desk.

The pattern looked like red and purple flowers, and in the middle, written in white thread were the words, “Eat, Drink and Be Merry.”

Jolyne opened her mouth to ask about it, but quickly closed it when she flashed the girl a rather out of character grin. The other mother sauntered over to her and then did something she had not in a  _ very _ long time; she ruffled her hair. 

“I-I mean…  _ He _ said to tell you that dinner is almost ready.” She told her, then added “B- But I thought dad didn’t cook!” Though she’d seen that was the opposite with her own two eyes.

The other Mother didn’t reply, only shook her head and laughed again as she ushered her out of the study.

Her father still had his back to her, just like the other mother, and he was humming as he stepped around the kitchen, a mixing bowl nestled in his arms.The room smelled  _ divine _ and had Jolyne’s mouth watering. Jolyne had not heard her father sing- much less  _ hum _ in a very, very long time. His face seemed to light up when he caught sight of Jolyne, the biggest smile crossing his lips. Jolyne shuddered, though the smile could be described as nothing but warm and inviting. 

“Jolyne! Come, sit, sit. Dinner is  _ just  _ about ready.” His voice had a happy lilt to it that had Jolyne glued where she stood. The other father stepped around the kitchen in soft, light steps. Hesitantly, she settled into her seat at the edge of the table as her mother helped her father in finishing off some final things for dinner. Her other father sat to the left of her and her other mother settled to her right when she was done with the final preparations for dinner. 

The dining room seemed more spacious and regal almost, with newly-polished furniture, a china cabinet sitting against the wall and bright cyan curtains. That wasn’t what caught Jolyne’s attention -- the dining table was covered with bowls and plates stacked with mouth-watering food. Mashed potatoes, blueberry muffins -- and then Jolyne’s other mother came in carrying a huge, golden-brown roasted chicken. She set the serving plate down in front of her and gestured for her to take some. The girl grabbed a slice with her fork and took and practically shovelled it into her mouth.

“Mmm!” She mumbled, her eyes widened, still chewing, “This is really good!”

The other father leaned his elbows on the table, rubbing his hands together and smiling down at Jolyne with a blindingly white smile. It was… still so shocking to see her father smile, even if it wasn’t  _ exactly _ her father, “Hungry, aren’t you?”

Jolyne didn’t pay him much mind, she was too busy piling her plate with a mountain of fluffy mashed potatoes. “Have any gravy?” She asked.

“Well, here comes the gravy train!” The other father chuckled and Jolyne noticed that the table had been laid with a miniature train track for a little toy train to travel along, stopping in front of the girl so she could pick up the gravy boat of the back and pour it over her plate.

“Another roll? Sweet peas? Corn on the cob?” Her other father offered.

“I’m real thirsty,” she replied.

“Of course!” He answered gleefully, and then the chandelier was descending from the ceiling, and she realized instead of lights there were glass bottles, each with a different brightly-coloured drink inside -- like those soda dispensers at really old, vintage diners.

“Any requests?”

“Mango milkshake?”

At that, the chandelier-milkshake-dispenser filled her glass with something bright and orange, which she hastily chugged down. It tasted  _ delicious _ . The other father took the opportunity to move Jolyne’s plate and replace it with a pink cake with chocolate icing. Jolyne gasped in delight as the candles decorating it lit up, but her smile fell slightly when she read what was written on it in swirly, red icing:

“ _ Welcome Home _ ”

“Home?” Jolyne parroted, her voice sounded hollow. The other father circled around the table to stand behind the other mother’s chair, taking her hand gently in his, “We’ve been waiting for you, Jolyne.” They both smiled her at with perfect, matching grins and shiny button eyes.

“For me?” She paraphrased, narrowing her eyes in disbelieving suspicion.

“Yup,” her other mother replied, “It wasn’t the same without you, Jolyne.” That gave the girl pause. Her real mother barely ever called her Jolyne. It was always Jojo. She only called her by her full name when she was really angry or talking about her to someone else.

“I didn’t know I had other parents.”

“Of course you do, silly!” Her other father chidded playfully, “Everyone does.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. And when you’re done eating I thought we’d play a  _ game _ ,” He continued excitedly. Jolyne noticed he became much more animated after saying that. His black eyes flashed and he was drumming his long fingers on the white tablecloth.

“Like… hide and seek?”

“Perfect!” The other father exclaimed, barely giving her time to finish, “Hide and seek, in the rain!”

“What rain?”

With a terrifying  _ boom _ thunder rumbled outside and fingers of white lightning split up the sky, like a splindly hand reaching towards the earth. Jolyne yelped, jumping in her seat. It was quickly followed by a downpour of rain that began to patter against the dining room windows.

“What about all the mud?” Jolyne asked reluctantly. “We love mud here,” chirped the other mother.

“Mud facials, mud baths, mud pies…” the other father continued, coming to lean over Jolyne’s chair. His voice was low but not quiet, smooth and it was odd to hear it coming from her dad. “I’ve heard it’s great for poison oak,” he said, gently tugging her hand to expose the angry red rash on her palm.

“How did you know I--” she blurted, wrenching her hand away, “I… I’d love to play, but… I think I should get back to my other father.”

“But  _ I’m _ your other father,” the man answered, his black button eyes glinting in the low light of the candles. That toothy smile never left his face, like this was all some sort of funny banter.

“No, I mean my  _ other  _ other father. Dad #1?” Jolyne had gotten up out of her seat to put some distance between herself and the other father, only to bump into something solid. She turned to see the other mother smiling down at her.

“I think I should get to bed,” she said, trying to hide the waver in her voice.

“Of course, sweetheart. It’s all made up,” the other father replied, gesturing to the stairs.

“But--”

“Come along, sleepyhead,” the other mother chimed in as they guided the girl upstairs.

Her bedroom was remarkable. For starters, it was painted in peculiar shades of green and pink. A swarm of wind-up butterflies swooped past her head and fluttered about like startled sparrows, whispering in excited voices:

“ _ Hello Jolyne! Hello, hello Jolyne! Hello, hello, hello!”  _

There were books laid out on the shelves with pictures that wriggled and shimmered, the images within them playing out before her very eyes. There was even a row of little dinosaur skulls that chattered their teeth as she passed. At the foot of her bed was a toy box filled with wonderful new toys.

_ This is more like it, _ thought Jolyne with a smile. She turned to look out the window. It was pretty much the same as the view from her real bedroom, except she couldn’t see that well through the dark and the pouring rain. She saw the yard and the trees below, and somewhere out in the distance were rolling, purple hills, though she couldn’t see much more than that.

Jolyne collapsed back onto her bed, which had actual blankets instead of a sleeping bag. Her other father was already there, sitting on the chair next to her bed and holding a little jar of wet dirt.

“Oh, right. The mud,” she thought aloud. Wordlessly, the man took her hand and spread the stuff over her rash in one fluid motion. At that moment, Jolyne’s eyelids fluttered and she failed to suppress a yawn. Since when was she so tired? She laid down on the fluffy pillows beneath her head and quickly drifted off.

Before sleep consumed her, she heard the other parents say in perfect unison: “ _ See you soon _ .”

* * *

The next morning found Jolyne at the breakfast table, talking excitedly while her mom worked the stove and her dad had his morning coffee. This was the most they’d given her any attention in a long time, but it wasn’t even all that much.

“--It was incredibly real, mom! Except you weren’t  _ you,  _ you were my  _ other _ mother.”

“Buttons for eyes, huh? Jolyne, you only dreamt you ate all that chicken. Take your multivitamin, at least,” her mother replied, passively sliding a plate of eggs and fried rice in front of the girl.

Her dad passed by the table on his way to the coffee machine and she piped up again, “You were there too, dad! You cooked the whole dinner and had oven mitts that looked like two little sharks!”

That got her a ghost of a smile from the man which she considered a win. “If you wanted me to cook that badly, you could have just asked,” he said. He then took a long drink from his mug and left the room with another manila folder under his arm, his steps echoing the house long after he’d left from her sight.

“Jojo,” her mother began as she closed the fridge, “Why don’t you go visit downstairs? I’m sure those two _ ‘actors’ _ would love to hear your story.”

“Sorbet and Gelato? But you said they’re both weirdos,” Jolyne replied.

Her mother gave her a pointed look and nodded sarcastically before leaving Jolyne alone in the kitchen. Only then did Jolyne roll down her sleeve to look at her hand. That magic mud was gone, but so was her poison oak rash -- She had discovered it this morning. Her palms were completely back to normal as if it had never been there in the first place. Had what she experienced last night been a dream like her mother said? She figured there was only one way to find out.

Crouching in front of the little door, Jolyne couldn’t turn her eyes away from the entrance to the living room, like she was expecting to be caught any second now. She narrowed her eyes at the little door, and she listened closely for the sounds of her mom or dad coming down the hallway, but heard nothing. She quickly turned the key (still in the keyhole) and swung the old door open.

To her immense disappointment, she was met with bricks. She felt around the doorway with her hand, but they were cold and solid under her palm. She sighed heavily and slammed the door shut again. She headed towards the door, grabbing her boots and coat along the way. At the last moment she grabbed a pair of garden shears.  _ Always smart to be prepared _ .

There’s another mail mixup. 

Sensing a pattern coming, Jolyne picks up the mail with a hum. It seems as though once again, Mr. Z’s mail had ended up with her own. She flicks through the mail, scrunching at the smell with a shake of her head. She tucks the mail under her arm, tucking them just under her little bag. As she makes her way up the rickety metal stairs. They haven’t been even looked at as they still creak and protest under her feet but, just like last time, she manages to make it to the top of the stairs without incident.

“Hellooo!” She calls again, a little less uncertain than she had the first the time around. Though she’s unsure of where Mr. Z will appear from this time around. It’s a bit of a guessing game really. She likes games though; and even if Mr. Z gets her name wrong, he's nice to her. 

“There’s been another mixup! I think I got some more of your mail!” She calls out, but to her surprise she gets no reply.  _ Maybe he’s out _ ? She wonders where someone such as him could have gone anyway? 

“Mr. Z?” She tries one more time, pounding on his door with her free hand. She gets a hollow sound in return as if there’s nothing but emptiness behind it. She tries the doorknob, shocked to find that it’s unlocked. She hums to herself, tilting her head. It wouldn’t hurt to just… peek inside, right? One small look inside wasn’t going to kill anyone, surely not. Eyebrows furrowed and her curiosity thoroughly piqued, Jolyne opens the door with, hoping for something that might catch her interest like what she saw last night.

The Pink Palace is real heavy on disappointments, it seems.

The inside of Mr. Z’s… home, is sparsely furnished and there are drapes over furniture here and there. Center in the room is something covered by a drape that looks like a small circus tent. Jolyne narrows her eyes, vaguely remembers Mr. Z mentioning something about a circus, hadn’t he? 

“Hm.” She hums.

Behind her, a shadow raises and Jolyne turns suddenly to see Mr. Z lunging towards. She gasps, stumbling back as Mr. Z grasps the door handle and slams the door shut. “ _ Secret _ .” He says gruffly, his accent slipping into his voice.

“Famous jumping mouse circus, not ready!” He says shaking one hand which is holding a sandwich and to her complete shock, he’s  _ upside down _ ? 

“Circus?” She’s still so shocked at the jumping mouse part. She looks down at the mail under her arm. “Oh! U-um, the mail got mixed up, again. More cheese.” She says holding up the packages. Just like last time, Mr. Z scoops them into his arms, taking a  _ deep _ whiff of the cheeses. He lets out an extravagant sign, deep and rumbly as he tips his hat to her. Once again how the hat stayed on his head escapes her.

“ _ Fantastico! _ Though you are  _ very clever  _ to use this mix up to come to my home and peek at  _ i topi _ .” He says. He hums, then kicks one leg up and twists himself so he’s sending himself flying over with a flurry of white and black. Coat and legs flying out and then he lands before her, putting himself between himself and the door. He leans down, getting into her face as he speaks that last part. He plants his hands on his hips.

“I…  _ topi _ ?” She questions, testing how to pronounce the word.

“The mice!” He says, his voice a little  _ too  _ loud. Jolyne finds herself wincing.

“You see, Jocelyn, the problem is that my new songs go ‘ _ oompa! oompa! _ ’” he says, pumping his arm out and bending his knees on each ‘oompa’ and the ghost of a smile crosses his face, nostalgic and just a hint sad. Jolyne narrows her eyes in confusion, tilting her head. “But the  _ jumping mice _ , they only play ‘tootletoot' like that.” He says, bringing his hands up as though he’s playing on a trumpet. Or a trombone, she doesn’t know instruments.

“It’s  _ nice _ ,” his voice is a drawl as he tilts his head from side to side in a most dramatic fashion. His hat stays on his head as though it’s glued there. “But not so much  _ amazing _ .”

“But now! I switch to even stronger cheese and ha!  _ Attento _ !” He does a salute and he turns around so he’s facing away from with a grunt and a flurry of his white coat, whipping in the wind that isn’t there. Before he slips inside though, he does one more over dramatic spin, gives her an interesting look and then slips inside his home without a word, the end of his coat swishing up. Jolyne doesn’t bother muttering about how he got her name wrong and she makes her way back down the stairs, ready to go explore… somewhere, anywhere. 

As she walked, she found herself humming the tunes that Mr. Z had mentioned before. She had made it no further than a good ten feet away from the houses before he heard someone calling…  _ a  _ name. Her’s. But wrong.

“Hey! Jocelyn!  _ Solo un momento, per favore _ !” Mr. Z called out and she looked up, to her horror, to see him launching himself over the banister. “Waaaait!” His voice gets louder the closer he gets and when he reaches the ground, his coat goes flying upwards and for the first time, his hat detaches from his head due to natural reasons. He lands as though he had only jumped down two stairs, reaching up to pluck his hat from the air. In her panic, Jolyne had held out the garden shears for protection and almost ended up stabbing the man. However, she didn’t seem to notice.

He crouched before her, getting much too close and Jolyne leaned back, a grimace on her face as he hides his mouth behind one hand. “The mice,” he says in a harsh whisper, leaning closer. “They asked me to give a  _ message _ .”

“The… jumping mice?”

“They are saying,” his voice fades as his narrow eyes dart around the area, scanning to see if there’s anyone listening in to their conversations. Jolyne doesn’t understand his paranoia. “Do not go through little door.” He finishes, his voice taking on a harsh edge.

Jolyne gasps.  _ How can they know? _

Mr. Z looks completely perplexed. “Do you know such a thing?”

Jolyne blinks, swallowing her confusion and fear. “...The one behind the wallpaper?” She asks, tilting her head once more. “But… it’s all bricked up!” She tells him. She doesn’t feel too bad for somewhat lying. It  _ had _ been bricked up.

“Bah! It’s nothing,  _ mi dispiace tanto _ , sometimes the mice are…” he twirls his fingers around by his ears. “A little mixed up.” He replies, shaking his head. Then, he stalks away, and with surprising grace, launches himself up to grab the railing of the stairs and then he hauls himself over and makes his way upstairs, leaving her holding her garden shears in confusion and mild bemusement. 


End file.
